


The Show Must Not Go On

by prisoner_of_conscience



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Annoyed Sam Winchester, Bars, Boys Think About Their Dad, Dean Winchester Tells Bad Jokes, Dean is a Closeted Theater Boi, Dean thinks miss saigon will have busty asian beauties, Evil Red Fog, Flashbacks, Fun Time with Plenty of Angst, Gen, Global Warming, Happy Ending, Helicopters, Humor, Hunt Gone Wrong, Made up lore, Miss Saigon - Freeform, New York City, Pizza, Reluctant Dean Winchester, Remembering John Winchester was a Marine, Sam Winchester is Over-Hungry, Sam Winchester is a history nerd, Short One Shot, Vietnam War, boys go to a musical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22910821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prisoner_of_conscience/pseuds/prisoner_of_conscience
Summary: Sam and Dean have been fighting all day on a Long Island hunt. When Sam has finally had enough he drags Dean to see some New York theater. After an unexpected hunt arises, Dean learns that he might be more into theater than he originally thought... Inspired by Dean's theater comments in 10x05, Fan Fiction.
Kudos: 12





	The Show Must Not Go On

**A/N:** While songs/lyrics, story etc… have been taken from _Miss Saigon_ , the timeline of the show has been altered as well as some plot points.

Also--I made up 99.9999% of the Lore/Monster/Stupid Plot so it is based in real myth not at all...

( ) ( ) ( )

The Long Island motel room was nearly cleared by the time Dean got back with a pizza in tow. Clunkily opening the door, Dean excitedly set the box on the table before noticing that their duffles were neatly packed on the bed and that Sam was working on tying his shoes.

“Woah, where are you running off to? I just got back.” Dean asked, immediately confrontational.

“I found a case in Iowa and we already wrapped up here so I figured we could hit the road.” Sam was confused at his brother’s reluctance but was unaffected by Dean’s aggression.

“Sam, we killed the shifter like two hours ago can you give us a minute to reset? Your whack-a-mole approach to hunting is starting to drive me insane.”

“Can we just talk after you eat?” Sam pleaded.

“Don’t do that” Dean mocked back.

“Don’t do what?” Sam’s voice rose in pitch as he threw his arms up in irritation.

“Don’t pretend I’m overreacting just because I’m hungry. You’ve been a drill sergeant man, you’re starting to sound like Dad.”

“Since when has that been a problem for _you_?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Forget it.”

“No. What’s your point, Sam?”

“You had no problem taking orders from Dad but you can’t stand to take them from me? Let me run things for awhile?”

“That’s what this is about? I don’t do what my little brother tells me to do? Wow. I’m shocked, Sam. Older siblings everywhere are baffled by this observation.”

“You’re such a jerk.”

“Yep. And you’re a bitch. But if you wanna go, then let’s go.”

Dean fished the Impala’s keys out of his jeans pocket, chucked them at Sam, grabbed his already packed duffle and headed out the door. The pizza box still left on the table, Sam eyed it and opened the lid, eating a piece as he finished packing up what little was left in the room. Spying Dean’s forgotten jacket on the chair, Sam was about to grab it when Dean re-entered, obviously having remembered it. Making eye-contact, Dean spotted the nearly devoured slice of pizza still in Sam’s hand.

“Right. _I’m_ the one who’s over hungry.”

Dean rolled his eyes with a shadow of a grin on his face. He grabbed his jacket, the pizza box, and held the door for Sam; the fight’s lingering resentment left in the now-abandoned room.

“Okay, Sam. You’re driving right? I’m letting you lead?”

“Would you shut up and get in the car?” Sam’s face was annoyed but Dean’s chagrin was hard to be mad at for too long. Awkwardly lowering themselves into the car, Dean’s tone shifted from dry sarcasm to genuine questioning.

“Seriously, where am I headed? _Rainbow Room_? _Marquee_? _CBGB._..again?”

“Iowa, Dean. Waterloo, Iowa” Sam said sternly.

“Waterloo?” Dean’s voice raised dramatically.

“Don’t worry--we can escape if we want to.” Sam grinned and looked to Dean who was preparing to back out of the parking lot. He stopped mid-motion to glare at Sam with such intense disappointment.

“It’s just ABB--”

“I know what it is, Sam! Just put on the radio so I can apologize to my ears.” Rolling his eyes but obeying, Sam messed with the dial while Dean backed out. Switching through static channel after static channel, Sam’s ears pricked at the clear sound of a newscaster.

“Midtown Manhattan has been flooded by a wave of red fog that experts are calling ‘definitive proof of climate change.’” Dean’s eyes darted to Sam and the youngest Winchester let out a sigh.

“I’ll call Jody about Iowa…” Sam pulled his cell from his pocket as Dean looked over his shoulder and promptly turned around.

( ) ( ) ( )

Sam and Dean strolled out of a midtown precinct office, weather reports in hand.

“So blood-red fog isn’t your typical electrical storm or dead cattle but seems to fit the demon bill.” Dean put his badge in his jacket pocket as he spoke, waiting for Sam’s response.

“I don’t think demons would want to cause mass hysteria somewhere like New York. I mean not unless they were planning an apocalypse which as far as we know--”

“As far as we know isn’t happening, yeah.” Dean stopped walking and turned to face Sam directly before speaking, his face beginning to twist into a mild pout.

“So...research then, probably…” He tried coming up with a smoother transition but nothing came to mind. “So you’re just gonna take this one, right? I’m no help. Slow reader, easily distracted and all that.”

“Yes, Dean. _All that jazz_.” Sam laughed and Dean just about punched him in the face.

“ _Thin ice_ , man. _Thin ice.”_ Dean pointed at his little brother and gave him a lighthearted smack before walking away, his tie already loosened.

( ) ( ) ( )

“Okay so get this, red fog is traditionally used in some ancient wedding rituals. Red, the color of fertility, is said to bring good luck and the ‘promise of posterity.’” Sam spoke into the cell while exiting the big NYPL and Dean listened from his own phone; sitting in a bar ten blocks away.

“I’m not really getting how this is our kinda thing.”

“Well here’s the catch--while red fog in small quantities is a blessing, the more you have, the more dangerous things get. People who are married for impure reasons are said to be cursed with a suffocating red fog brought on by one of the ancient ‘Four Immortals,’Princess Lieu Hanh. The more scammy the marriage, the bigger the cloud of evil fog. So I guess bigger isn’t always better.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Sammy.” Dean threw the half-assed joke away, not fully enunciating into the phone but Sam heard nonetheless.

“You’re so gross, Dean.”

“Yeah well-- it’s a gift. So if this killer fog was unleashed how come nobody died? You’re telling me everyone is in a perfect marriage?”

“That’s what I haven’t been able to figure out. But I guess we do the usual: find out who summoned this thing, if it’s dangerous and how to stop it. But I have no idea where to begin. I don’t think we’re gonna make any progress until tomorrow. I need to make some calls, read a few more things.”

“Nice work, Sammy. Well you do what you gotta do and I will check in with you tomor--” Dean made a decent effort to get off the phone but Sam wasn’t having it.

“Oh no you don’t. Remember letting me take the lead? And your stupid little joke? Dean, you are not getting a night off.” Sam’s head drifted upwards, looking at the tall buildings and waiting for Dean’s grumbled reply.

“..where are you?”

“See, was that so hard?”

“Shut your mouth.”

( ) ( ) ( )

Sam stood staring at the red board while Dean was slumped next to him, sulking. Sam’s eyes wandered over the ticket listings, excited that he’d be getting back to his high-school tech days. The board’s titles were generally foreign to him but a few sparked familiarity. One in particular.

“Dean?” Sam asked.

“What?” Dean whined pathetically, stringing out the question as long as he could.

“When was Dad’s tour in Vietnam?” Sam’s features were curious but Dean’s were molded into serious confusion.

“I don’t know…’70? ‘71? Sam, why the hell are you asking?”

“This show, _Miss Saigon_ \--it takes place during the Vietnam war and it’s about a Marine falling in love right before he gets shipped home.”

“So there’s a _musical_...about the Vietnam _war_ … and you wanna _go_?” Dean said the sentence slowly, hoping Sam would hear the absurdity.

“Pretty much.” Sam nodded, and merged into the line. Dean pouted his lips, nodded, and resigned to a miserable evening.

( ) ( ) ( )

“Dude why didn’t you tell me this was X-rated?! Coulda saved yourself a lot of crap.” Dean pointed to a sign in the lobby that read: _The material presented in this performance may be unsuitable for children under the age of 18. Performances include the use of alcohol, smoking, violence, reference to violence, partial nudity, prostitution, and suggestive dancing. Please be advised._

“It’s not ‘X-rated’ Dean. It’s history. It could be Dad’s history for all we know. Don’t you ever wonder what happened over there?”

“Not really. I mean war is hell--we’ve lived through enough of ‘em to know. He wasn’t there very long…” Dean trailed off. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. I just never really thought about it I guess.”

“Clearly.”

“But hey! Strippers? Dancing? This is Busty Asian Beauties in the flesh but I don’t have to feel sleazy about it. It’s _art_.”

“Have you ever felt sleazy about it?” Sam’s lips lifted to a soft smile and Dean outright ignored his prompting, moving through the line and being directed by a grouchy old man about where to sit. Oh the theater.

( ) ( ) ( )

_The heat is on in Saigon_

_The girls are hotter ‘n hell…_

The uptempo stripper song had Dean grinning from ear to ear and it was Sam’s turn to pout. This was supposed to be Dean’s punishment and now he was enjoying it. Great. Dean leaned in to whisper into his brother’s ear even though Sam tried to lean away.

“Remember that lap dance I got you for your birthday and you hated it?”

“Dean, be quiet.” Sam reprimanded his brother but before Dean could retort, the song progressed into a gentle melody and the main character appeared, dressed in all white. Sam’s heart faltered at her innocence. Everything inside of him tensing; filled with an innate instinct to protect her.

_I’m seventeen and I’m new here today_

_The village I come from seems to far away_

_All of the girls know much more what to say_

_But I know, I have a heart like the sea_

_A million dreams are in me…_

Sam watched for a few more minutes as the American characters grabbed at the young girl and turned to whisper in Dean’s ear.

“What were you saying about that lap dance?” Sam pretended that his question was innocent.

“Shut up.”

“Feeling sleazy now?”

“It’s not like that--besides, she just said she’s seventeen, she’s not even legal. Stop making me out to be some kind of pervert!” Dean’s voice rose in genuine frustration and the people around them glared at the noise. Dean awkwardly slid back in his seat and Sam had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

Soon after the opening scene, the show progressed into a historical love story and Dean progressed into boredom. Sam was thrilled. A few times Dean whispered a plea to leave but Sam denied his request--remaining committed. So song after song and scene after scene they watched. At some point, the sound of an off-stage helicopter shocked Dean back into paying attention. His attention was focused on Kim as she violently sang her plight to Chris.

_Do you want to be told how my village was burned?_

_Want to hear how my family was blasted away?_

_How I ran from the rice fields and saw them in flames?_

_How my parents were bodies whose faces were gone…_

Dean was careful not to check in with Sam--if his brother was lost in the show than it was better to not drag his thoughts to the heavy memories of the past.

_How I ran from the rice fields and saw them in flames_

_Take your brother outside. Go, Dean!_

_How my parents were bodies whose faces were gone_

_She doesn't even have a grave--there was no body left after the fire._

Unexpectedly pulled into the stakes of the show unfolding in front of him, Dean sat in quiet diligence, relating more than he’d thought (and by more he really meant at all) to a seventeen year old Vietnamese girl.

If Sam wanted to protect her, it was fair to say that Dean wanted to save her.

But he couldn’t.

So Dean and Kim settled for what they could save:

Family.

The haunting orchestration sent adrenaline through Dean as he watched a broken Kim sing to her son.

_Why should you learn of war or pain?_

_I just wanted you to be a kid. Just for a little while longer._

_You will be who you want to be, you--_

_Can choose whatever heaven grants_

_As long as you can have your chance_

_I swear I’ll give my life for you_

_Don’t get mad at me. Don’t you do that. I had to look out for you. That’s my job._

So Dean sat in his red-cushioned chair; a living, breathing example of the catharsis of theater.

And despite the emotional wreckage going on inside him, he really was enjoying himself.

Until Kim’s marriage scene. The altar set up on stage was small but intricate. Incense seemed to be burning, idols set up, traditional clothing as costume pieces...and Sam, suddenly, realized the connection. Eyes widening, he leaned forward and shook Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean! Dean the alter--the prayers on stage. Kim is in an arranged marriage. She doesn’t love him, she loves Chris.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The red fog, Dean. It was summoned from the ritual in this show. But it didn’t kill anyone because the marriage isn't real. Because they’re just actors. But the ritual is real.”

“So are real people gonna actually start to die?”

“You really wanna wait and find out?” Sam eyebrows raised at the thought and at the same moment, red fog filled the theater. Dean panicked, voice still a whisper.

“What do we do? What do we do?”

“I don’t know!” Sam admitted.

The hunters didn't have time to think because a woman in the front row started violently coughing. And then a man on stage. Then two more. Three more. Dean stood promptly and began pushing his way through the isle, Sam doing the same but in the opposite direction.

“Somebody call 911 and get the house lights ON!” Sam shouted to no one in particular as Dean ran to try and lift himself onto the stage. Dragging the actors off into the wings, he shouted to his brother who was doing the same with the people in the audience.

“Sam! What am I doing? How do I stop it?”

The remaining, unaffected audience members began screaming and stampeding.

“Destroy the altar, I guess! I don’t know, Dean!”

Not having a better idea, Dean kicked and smashed the props--shattering ceramic idols and ripping petals from flowers. At the destruction of the centerpiece, the redness faded, people began breathing and the screaming subsided. Left onstage, Dean’s face was overwhemled with embarrassment. Sweaty and panicked, his brain tried desperately to invent some kind of cover but nothing was coming into his head. It was completely blank. Nada. Zip. His mouth went dry and the only thing going through his head was that scene from platoon when Willem Dafoe dramatically falls. _Don’t do that. Don’t do that. That’s not appropriate. Stop. Don’t._

Hundreds of eyes on him, Dean was desperate and no longer thinking before he acted, his deep, scratchy off-key voice filled the theater.

“The heat is on in Saigon…” At the end of the phrase his eyes met Sam’s. The other hunter’s face was strung out in shock--eyes wide and jaw slack. Attempting to recover, Dean spoke.

“N-now that your marriage is...um...delayed...you can--you can go be with Chris.” Adding a pathetic salute on the end of his improvisation, Dean hopped off stage and stormed out of the theater with Sam trailing behind.

( ) ( ) ( )

“So no more red fog and evil Vietnamese immortal princess gods?” Dean clarified as they drank in a relatively uncrowded bar.

“Far as I can tell we’re good to go.”

“And it won’t happen again every time the show goes on?” Dean took a swig of his beer.

“There must have been real idols mixed in with the prop ones. You broke them all so it’ll be fine.”

“Alright well, we better get a move on cause the show’s in an hour.”

“What?”

“8’o’clock curtain is up, you figure you gotta be there twenty minutes ahead and we’re like 30 blocks away. We seriously gotta move.”

“Dean, hold on. What the hell are you talking about?”

“We never finished the show, Sam.” Sam’s brows raised in disbelief.

“Y-you wanna go back...to _Miss Saigon_...to finish the show?” Sam copied his brother’s tone from earlier.

“We don’t know how it ended. You’re gonna be ok being halfway across the country not knowing what happened to Kim and Chris with no way of knowing?”

“I can look it up, Dean…”

“You can’t just _look it up_. You have to actually watch it. I mean what happens with Ellen and Chris? Does Kim find out about them? Is Tam safe? I mean Kim lived through all this so you could just walk away?” Dean was out of breath by the time he finished and Sam, despite wanting to make fun of him, decided he couldn’t beat Dean so he’d better join him. Pulling cash from his pocket he left it on the counter, looked at his watch and replied,

“If we jog we can get there in time to buy snacks.”

Dean grinned ear to ear and the brothers raced to the theater happier than they’d been in a long time.

_From this picture I keep_

_You, my parents, look out_

_And your smiles show no scorn_

_For I am happy today_

_For I know what to do_

_And my heart is not torn_

_\--Miss Saigon_


End file.
